An Ounce of Blood
by Petite Samedi
Summary: Legolas is forced to choose between loyalty to his royal family or his exalted but secret lover, Haldir of Lorien...on pain of death. When sneaking relations, spies and unexpected drawbacks come into play...is blood really thicker than water? FINISHED
1. Default Chapter

"An ounce of blood is worth a pound of friendship."  
~Spanish Proverb.  
  
A darkness was growing in the mind of the king. As it had long before claimed the once-fair kingdom of Mirkwood, cancerously spreading and re- birthing itself, so did the darkness begin to touch upon and poison the mind of Thranduil. His desire for power; his lust for wealth bore him swiftly and surely up the hierarchy of despised powers, 'til he at last ascended to that most powerful rank of tyrant, or near tyrant. Thranduil was not a safe one to cross and not a safe one to trust; even the auspicious position as king and a vast cache of silver and of white gems failed to slake his burning thirst for power and wealth, and not a one was safe from the shifting degrees of the king's cruelty.  
  
Not even his sons.  
  
Like so many other denizens of Thranduil's court, his four sons had learned to tread lightly and with bated breath where their father was concerned, not desiring to awaken the dormant temper that slept fitfully beneath the king's golden exterior. Legolas, the youngest of these four sons, was akin to his father in face and otherwise in appearance, but a milder and more introspective personality pertaining to the Prince provided means for a stark contrast between the king and his son. More importantly, Legolas was favored by the courtiers on downward, even preferred over Thranduil, to such an extent that it became wise for him to speak as infrequently and as little as possible in or out of his father's presence, lest the king's raging anger awoke and he flew into a passion. Though he loved his sons, Thranduil would have no qualms about ascertaining that *he* was always the one held in highest proximity by all of Mirkwood.  
  
Mirkwood's king was more judgmental than some, and more warlike than most, and this is where he and his youngest son differed.


	2. 2

As Legolas was a contrast to Thranduil, so was the golden forest of Lothlorien to the ever-darkening expanses of Mirkwood the great. Heavily guarded as it was against a nameless threat; a shadow birthing itself in the East, Lothlorien remained a bulwark against the rest of the world, a golden oasis of a more peaceable time, and was presided over by Galadriel and Celeborn, the Lady and the Lord of the Golden Wood. Also, there was an appreciable range of Lorien Elves to stand sentry and guard Lothlorien, and one of these was Haldir.  
  
A talented and sure archer, Haldir was beautiful and strong, with an aura of calm confidence about his person that could almost be read as arrogance, at times. His countenance was bold and noble, a strong jaw and aquiline nose giving him an unmistakable, elegant nobility and fire. Haldir's hair, a star-dappled silvery blond, was swept off from his intellectual forehead and cascaded down to his back in a graceful fall, and his eyes were dark, but bright, like those belonging to a bird of prey. With his proud jaw clenched grimly, and his granite eyes glittering like a sword-blade as he prepared to draw his bow, the Elf was unmistakable as a guard of Lothlorien, fierce and grim, a wingless spirit of vengeance and protection.  
  
But, when the light fell the right way and a less proud mood was brought out in Haldir, he appeared with a nonetheless fierce and noble countenance, but this was a different fire, a ferocity of another sort. As Haldir could bear within him the torch of a fierce guardian so could he be charged from head to foot with a fierce love.  
  
And it was Legolas, the king's son, whom Lorien's guardian was enamored of, and who returned his affections in full.  
  
It was Legolas, whom Haldir loved.


	3. 3

Lothlorien was beautiful. In truth, it was indescribable, a word such as beautiful would hardly do it justice in the least. Or so it seemed to some. As the virginal, new night spread her mantle over the skies, a hush fell over the Golden Wood, so that the ethereal beauty of Lothlorien would be fully appreciated, or it seemed that way. Around Haldir, the Wood held no charm for him, there was nothing there that seemed to him intriguing or wonderful. True, the beauty remained, but to him it was now a jaded place, one that's true value was in its appearance alone. 

For Haldir, it would not have mattered had he been in Mordor at this moment, or the Grey Havens, or anywhere else. Lorien seemed to him a dream…one that was pleasant enough, but left the dreamer with a wistful feeling, waking with a yen for something never to be, because it was only a dream. 

Indeed, to Lorien's guard, any place that was not graced by his fair love was hardly one worth being in. Places he had once found wonderful were now simply locations on a map; and he knew the reason. The first enchantment that such regions had cast over him was a simple enough one: Legolas had cast them. 

When he had come to Lothlorien the first time, he had been traveling by the side of Mirkwood's prince, and Haldir had mistaken his love for Legolas, timidly creeping out of a chrysalis like a butterfly, for an enchantment cast by the beauty and stillness of a place such as Lorien. And for a while, that feeling had remained. Gradually, over time, the enchantment had even grown, as his love for the Elven prince had grown, and when they had first consummated their love under a deepening sky such as this one that spread over Lothlorien even now, Haldir had believed himself to be finally at perfect happiness in a place where he belonged. He never counted on Legolas's returning to Mirkwood. After this, the familiar disenchantment had begun, once again, to creep up on Haldir, more so as the long years began to roll in, unbidden, like a storm at sea, between the devastatingly short periods of time that he would be reunited with the one he loved. 

It mattered not to Haldir where he was. He could not feel as strong a love as he would like to, even for Lothlorien, if he was not beside Legolas. And he had not seen the younger Prince in nearly a century.  
  
The proud mask that Haldir always bore before him crumbled for a moment, thinking of the Prince. There had to be a reason he had been away for so long, and no one under the heavens could remain impervious to the Prince's charms for long. If Haldir hadn't been able to read Legolas's heart as though it were spread out before him, he would have suspected that he had found a paramour in Mirkwood, one that he needn't travel long distances to be with. But they had sworn undying love, and bound themselves to that oath through the Great Rite, the consummation of their love, that most sacred of bonds, and they both knew they would keep it, or taste the heart's bloody tears of sorrow. And still the night remained chaste, her deepening colors smiling down in vain at Haldir, promising him nothing. Promising him no one.  
  
Alone with his bow, the beautiful Elf began to dwell on thoughts of his lover, on the beautiful light that Legolas seemed to effortlessly bring to everything.  
  
"Would that you could show me that light now, Legolas, I would fall at your feet. I would become your slave, sell you my soul, I would take my own life if you asked, and call out your name with my last breath if you so desired! The pain of separation causes my heart to bleed, and I implore you, if there has been any sympathy bestowed upon your gracious heart, to return to me!"  
  
Still, the stars smiled ruthlessly upon Haldir, never breaking their promise of nothing. The night, though, was kind, and the stillness was soon broken by the subtle, drum- beat poetry of a horses' hooves across the loamy forest earth, matching, for all the world, Haldir's own heartbeat. Lost in thought, the brooding Elf failed to notice the rider, his mind still far off in that blissful channel of days gone by, until it seemed to him that he was, in fact, dreaming, and could never be reawakened, for he had almost never expected to hear that voice again, the one he had yearned for over the relentless march of years.  
  
"Haldir, my star-crowned one! It has been, oh, it has been much too long since I saw you last! It grew to be too much, remaining alone in the confines of my kingdom, and though I knew it to be the wise thing to stay, my heart railed against the punishment in nothing less than bitter agony."  
  
The younger Elf paused, passionate emotion burning behind his eyes, and moved to rest his head against the broad expanse of Haldir's chest, the rivulets of their hair flowing together to form a star-kissed river in the still night.  
  
"You spoke of being alone, my prince," Haldir said tenderly, running a hand through the silken fall of his lover's hair, his whole body thrilling with the electric shock of seeing Legolas again. "You are surrounded in your own kingdom by family, friends and courtiers who would fall at your feet and worship you, as I desire to, should your father allow them to. And in Lorien, you are more of a stranger to the Elves here than anything else. Why do you speak of loneliness in your kingdom?"  
  
"You know what I meant; for I saw your face wearing the same expression when I arrived that my heart has borne inside all this time. I spoke not with my voice, but from my heart, which desires to be forever with the one it adores. In Mirkwood, others surrounded me, but they mattered not. To be where you are not is to be alone, for no one can offer me the love that you can."  
  
Legolas was a romantic, and one totally enamored. Overcome, he sank down upon his knees into a kowtow, and began to cover the tops of Haldir's light shoes in kisses, until he felt Haldir take his hand and begin to draw him to his feet again.  
  
"Stand, my love. Falling at the feet of others does not suit you at all. Stand tall for me, Legolas, as you were meant to. "  
  
"Do not speak to me, Haldir, of what I was meant to do," Legolas whispered fervently, taking the elder Elf's hands in his, a pleading look in his eyes. "I have heard enough of what I am meant for, and there is none of it that is true. I exist, nay, I *thrive* on your love alone. I was meant to love you, and to throw myself at your feet. Is it unfit for a prince, an earthly prince, to kneel before a god? And as I kneel before you, I beg for consecration before a god. Speak to me of love, Haldir, and tell me that you may still love me."  
  
A hurricane of tormented passions swept through the fairest of Lorien's guards at that moment, as the simple elegance of Legolas's words struck him in a way that not even their speaker had touched him before.  
  
Never before had he heard such a profound statement, never before had one he loved turned to face him and pleaded with him to relay the truth as to whether Haldir's love was still true, even after a century spent in distant lands. With those simple words, Haldir felt that a magical balm to heal all wounds, to smooth away the passage of time and make things as they once were, soothed all he had ever been through, now that Legolas had said such things to him. Mirkwood's greatest treasure had asked whether *he*, Haldir, still loved him, and had professed his own love.  
  
"You ask me if I may still love you, Legolas, and I cannot answer that question as simply as you may ask it. Legolas, it cannot be called, simply, love; for it transcends anything I have ever felt before, and I adore you, I worship you, I place my heart in a golden casket at your feet. I will not tell you that I love you, Prince of Mirkwood. I should rather show you."  

At this bold declaration, Legolas stepped in close to the taller Elf, pressing flush against him and pinning him to the silver bark of a mallorn tree. 

"Let me do the showing, Haldir. Let me." 

For one night, the world outside of Lothlorien stopped.


	4. 4

  
Legolas's visit had not stopped time. The wheel of the year was turning and Samhain approached, the 'dark' holiday when the veil between worlds was thinnest. Indeed, it seemed that going between separate worlds had something to do with this holiday, because nearly five months before, a hot night just after Litha had brought the Elf prince's unexpected sojourn to Lothlórien and on Samhain, he was making ready to leave. The night had brought him, and the day would take him.  
  
"I would that you did not have to leave again so soon," Haldir murmured, watching with a calm façade as Legolas strapped to his back the bow and quiver that he was almost never seen without.  
  
The prince gently brushed stray locks of bright hair behind Haldir's pointed ears, and offered him a beautiful half smile, accompanied by a tender expression in his oceanic eyes.  
  
"These short months have passed us by too quickly, I agree, but I am a prince and have a duty to my people. Much as I regret to say, a return to Mirkwood is necessary. I'll remind you that the forest is still inhabited with Orcs that need to be purged from the area." Spoken to anyone else, these words could have sounded cold, were it not for the regret in his eyes and the gentle manner the prince spoke with. Haldir sighed, and placed a strong hand on Legolas's shoulder, feeling the leather strap that held the quiver to the prince's back.  
  
"We had just found each other again for the first time in years.now I feel as though I am losing you all over again." He lamented in the quasi-bitter tone characteristic to him. Sensing that Legolas would soon be once more out of his reach, the embittered frost that used to gloss his features over ever so slightly had returned. Catlike, the prince laid his ears back slightly, and a fey grin transformed those dulcet lips to something wilder.  
  
"No one ever said we were to be separated.I am free to leave Mirkwood, surely you are permitted to take leave of Lothlórien? My realm is far less fair, as we share it, however unwillingly, with Orcs and spiders, but you are welcome there. Come with me to the Samhain celebration; stay a few months. *You* are the best, but there are other guards in Lothlórien." He leaned forward and brushed soft fingertips across Haldir's winged cheekbones, so close to him that their lips were about a centimeter apart, and found himself looking into crystal clear gray eyes that smiled at him.  
  
"I agree, Legolas.but only for a few months."  
  
Legolas smiled sweetly back. It was part of his brattish, princely nature that he always get what he want.  
  
"Of course."  
  
****  
  
The people of Mirkwood thought of their ruler as a tyrant, true, but only when provoked. If one could manage to skirt around the king's decisive and explosive temper, they would find a strong ruler and jovial, if slightly *boisterous*, monarch who did in fact care for his sons and kingdom, despite his.eccentricities. The real problem was his elder sister. Melglìniel was unlike her brother in any way at all. Not only did she sport hair as dark as the smoke the spewed forth from Mount Doom and eyes as deceptive and black as a promise made in Mordor, but somehow she had always seemed more treacherous and power-lustful than her younger brother. Maybe that had something to do with the fact that she had taken lovers on a string---there were too many to count, and most of them seemed to be human. Whether she liked the fact that, being an Elf, she held power over even the cruelest and most powerful of these or whether it was something else altogether, Melglìniel's lovers seemed to always end up as the cruelest, most powerful Men she could find, and their dispositions had rubbed off on her. Altogether, she was conniving, shrewd and not to be trusted. There had been one exception in her long string of playthings and consorts. Manquelleion had been kind and soft-spoken; for once someone who was easer to dominate. Melglìniel had left him quickly, perhaps for this same reason. There was one drawback, however: she had found herself to be carrying his child shortly after she left him. She had withdrawn behind the hidden gates of Imladris for the past sixteen hundred years to birth and raise the girl, as well as linger in constant splendor and delight, and now had resurfaced in Mirkwood. Thranduil was not pleased by the advent of his elder sibling, but she had not yet provided him with an excuse to cast her forth from his realm, and she had brought with her a most intriguing offer.  
  
****  
  
Samhain Eve, denizens of Mirkwood all stared after the youngest prince in awe as he returned to his father's land and to the Samhain bonfires he knew so well. It wasn't the prince whom their eyes were trained on, but the proud High Elf riding beside him on an iron-grey steed. Haldir held their attention in command, and noticed none of it. Though his eyes focused on what lay before him, he was aware of only one presence: that of Legolas. Whispers ran through the multitude of Elves at the fires, whispered rumors and guesses: He was Legolas's lover. Friend. Someone who had come to make a deal with Thranduil. He was *Melglìniel's* paramour dujour. Everyone was guessing, but nobody knew for sure. The Elvenking came forward to greet his son at his return, and to inquire as to Haldir's presence. Dressed in fine black and silver robes, carrying an oaken staff and wearing his traditional headpiece of autumn leaves, Mirkwood's king cut an impressive and regal figure, seeming at Haldir's first glance to be noble, decisive and arrogant in an impressive way, yet he also sensed that the king cared for his son more than anyone else would have guessed. Legolas dismounted easily from his horse, bowed to his father and gestured towards the tall Elf he had brought with him.  
  
"Father, may I present Haldir of Lothlórien, the captain of the Galadrim."  
  
Impressed, Thranduil bowed, making an elegant leg to the shining warrior before him.  
  
"It is an honor, Haldir of Lórien, to have you in Mirkwood at Samhain."  
  
Cool and collected as ever, Haldir bowed back, while admiring the King. Resplendent in dark robes that contrasted with piercing eyes the color of the evening as it fades to midnight, and hair that could put the sun to shame, it was easy to tell where Legolas had gotten his beauty from.  
  
"The honor is mine, King Thranduil. I have visited these woods often enough, but never in the company of the ruling family."  
  
Thranduil's eyes, almond-shaped and cerulean, widened enough to give him a congenially surprised look.  
  
"Never in the company of the ruling family? And you are a friend of my son? Somehow this surprises me."  
  
The Lórien Elf opened his mouth to let Thranduil know that he and Legolas shared much more than a bond of camaraderie, knowing it to be fact that the Elvenking himself had taken a number of male lovers, but was silenced even before he could begin by an Elven woman rushing forward to Thranduil and Legolas. Her appearance, swarthier than that of the golden King and his son, would have borne no resemblance to either of them, save for her narrow eyes, a characteristic common to the Elves of Mirkwood.  
  
"Legolas! Legolas, my dear brother's-son."  
  
She gave him a beautiful, predatory smile---the look of a woman whose desire to play the Goddess of Fate knows no bounds.  
  
The prince arched a perfect golden eyebrow at her; the cooler, arrogant side that he rarely displayed predominating his flawless features.  
  
"Melglìniel, I was never a dear anything to you. Why begin a pretty lie now, when you have so openly disregarded my father and myself for so many years?"  
  
Ever-unsettling, the smile widened, crescendoing into a nearly malignant, cold crescent of vicious lips and teeth. Haldir, a silent presence at the side of the Prince, flickered his storm-tossed grey eyes back and forth from Legolas, Thranduil and the brash Elf who had just entered the conversation. Not once did any emotion appear on his face, not even the mild curiosity he felt. Sister to the king though she was, Melglìniel certainly wouldn't presume to overstep her bounds before Thranduil himself. Strangely enough, the King's noble features registered no reaction to his sister's tenebrously mirthful smile. Instead, he turned to Legolas, silver and black robes fluttering slightly with the movement, and looked deep into his son's matching cyan eyes. Instinctively, Legolas's throat tightened and he involuntarily took a step back towards his father. If Melglìniel's darkly amused cold smile meant anything to him, anything at all, it meant that he most assuredly was not going to like what his father was saying.  
  
"---en called Nilwathiel."  
  
Haldir's perfectly composed emotionless face was now star- white and nearly embittered by desperation in appearance. He wore an almost tragic look of desperation and shock, under- toned with the barest hint of a flame of rage licking at his ordinarily cool exterior. The warrior turned to face his lover, shock-wide eyes boring harshly into Legolas's own.  
  
"Legolas! I---I never knew."  
  
As Legolas looked back at his lover, his alabaster brow furrowed in confusion, he saw many emotions running rampant in those desperate iron eyes: Hurt, self-pity, disbelief, wrath; betrayal, and he knew not the cause of any of them.  
  
"Haldir---what is wrong? What do you not know?"  
  
Thranduil turned to his son then, his golden countenance lit from within with pride.  
  
"Were you not listening, my son? Nilwathiel has agreed to marry you!"


	5. 5

If you want to know when this story is going to be updated, or how things are coming along, leave your email in a review or mail me at KillingDeagol@hotmail.com, and I promise to tell all. To Lady of Legolas: The reason I keep updating the story without anything new was that once my whole account got deleted temporarily, and then the entire story got deleted, and I just uploaded it again today. I hope this makes up for it. To the rest of you, thanks for the kind reviews and advice. I most definitely take it all to heart. 

~Cerridwyn Brighid.

Fighting back a crushing emotion that was struggling to reinvent itself as either startled anger or crushing sorrow, Haldir finally managed to harden his features into a neutral semblance of indifference, lit only by the well of pain behind the lovely grey eyes. Unwilling to show strong emotion before his devious prince, Thranduil or that swarthy bitch Melglìniel, he made a show of his own "mild curiosity," somehow able to turn to his greenleaf without breaking and say calmly "You've never mentioned any Nilwathiel to me, Legolas."

He was startled to see just barely restrained fear and melancholy behind Legolas's oceanic eyes

"Nilwathiel…"

The prince repeated automatically, his voice thin and harsh to his own ears. The name of the Elf in question cut through the air between them and hung like a headsman's blade finishing one job and awaiting another.  

Melglìniel had accurately perceived each flitting emotion between Haldir and her nephew, and annoyed anger seethed within her. Her brother was no help, blissfully oblivious to all that she herself was too acutely aware of. Indeed, he had turned about-face and was now motioning another Elf to the group, this one a maiden, the fluid grace of his hands elegant and inviting. 

  
Legolas appraised the newcomer with little more than a careful interest   She was probably half a foot shorter than he, with a cascade of pale gold hair that at last ended below her calves, and narrow eyes the shade of soaking leaves after a night rainfall.   
Another one of his father's courtesans…she looked like his type: pretty, silent, and younger than his youngest son. 

The new addition curiously eyed those around her from under thick lashes, with a recessed, shy smile that still managed to be so open and warm that it coerced even the stern Guard of Lorien to feel an immediate fondness for her. 

Melglìniel appeared disinterested, Mordor-dark hair flowing freely down her back as she gazed shrewdly at Legolas and the Lorien Elf that had accompanied him to the Samhain bonfires, at once knowing the gist of everything that had ever passed between the two of them.

Tightening her lips like the spring of a deadly trap, she again resumed her uncaring apathy in favor of a richer drama than the one she knew already.

Well aware that his clandestine company was the focus of every Elf's poorly disguised attention, the Elvenking turned to his son, bright blue eyes reflecting a fount of noble pride within.

"My son, it is time you were introduced to the girl."           

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

            At these words, Haldir slunk back into the quagmire of cool disinterest that had engulfed him in those times previous the Prince of Mirkwood.  Melglìniel's shrewd face appeared dangerously pleased to no end, a warning signal Legolas was naturally unable to ignore, no matter how desirous he was of doing so. Thranduil's blonde appeared mildly interested, but as nothing said pertained to her, kept her peaceable silence. 

If only the Elvenking were aware of all the upheaval and discord his well-meant, simple words had birthed for them all! 

A haughty, dark-haired maiden with the self-absorbed look of Melglìniel about her looked up from the imperious clique of pompous minor nobility she currently immersed herself in and looked straight into the Prince's eyes at the mention of a betrothed bride. Bound by strangling despair, Legolas could not break eye contact with the black-haired siren as she swept deliberately towards him; could not turn and viewthe apathetic façade applied as perfectly as any actress's paints to the face of his beloved.

"Nilwathiel," Melglìniel said sharply, gesturing with an abrupt hand, lacking Thranduil's grace, toward Legolas. The haughty Elf glided up to them, a satisfied smirk on those pretty and ill-boding lips.

She nodded gracefully to Thranduil, then to Legolas, and passed them by.

The blonde watched her go, pink lips pursed, and faced Haldir and Legolas. 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"My son, may I present the Lady Nilwathiel of Imladris."

As Legolas stood startled, the cascade-haired, green-eyed Elf at his father's side moved gracefully, albeit a little shyly towards him and curtsied low, her flowing skirt brushing Haldir's foot so he backed off in something near to disgust. 

"Prince Legolas," the girl-elf breathed, eyes fixed steadily on Legolas's face as though she would lose herself if she didn't keep them there. "I am honoured." 

Her voice, though polite, indicated despair in the younger Elf, who seemed innately cheerful. Aghast as he was, the prince couldn't help but feel a rush of pity for her. What had occurred, to make her so unhappy? Obviously she had consented to this marriage, whereas he had had o choice in the matter. 

Out of etiquette and sheer numb shock, Legolas found himself clasping her hand, as beautiful as Melglìniel's and elegant as Thranduil's, in his own.

"The honour is all mine, my Lady," he said chivalrously, pressing his lips briefly into the palm of her hand that opened softly like a bud. He could not yet bring himself to speak the name of his ruinous aunt's child; his betrothed one. '

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Haldir shift ever so slightly in his direction, eyes a cold glittering and lips so adored by the prince bearing a fixed smile that appeared ghastly to Legolas, but unheeded by everyone else present. 

"I wish you the best of luck, my friend," Haldir said tightly, the last word slicing thinly across a web of tension in the air obvious only to himself and Legolas. 

"Regrettably, I must return to Lothlorien on the morrow. Love her well."


	6. 6

A/N: Again, apologies for the extreme lateness of this chapter. I've been really terrible about updates. Again, just ask me to email you if you want updates or anything else your little hearts desire. Without further adieu…chapter six!

***

            A graceful return to Lothlorien, splintering heart be damned, was the only way out of the newest drama surrounding Mirkwood's deceptive royal family. The ethereal wood would appear welcoming, glittering silver and gold in the early winter of his return, but softest light conceals the hardest interior. Haldir was all too aware of this, following the Samhain events. It had all come to nearly nothing: one night in the darkened kingdom of his sly prince. Impossible, to think of Legolas as anything other than his. His Legolas, handfast to the blonde Nilwathiel of Imladris.

This was dying, then. Death came slowly, not the separation of the soul from the body, but the rending of you heart from the heart of one who loved you, once. To be emotionless would be the greatest achievement yet, blocking out the anguished cry that, finding no release in the primal vocal howl it was meant to be, ripped through his body in a violent shudder of grief. 

To leave would be impossible, and so would it be to stay. There would be no solace for Haldir of Lorien in the Golden Wood, nor Mirkwood, nor anywhere else. With the birth of a blonde Elf-maid in Imladris some sixteen hundred years ago, his life had been destroyed and only now was he aware of it.

Internally breaking, Haldir drew strength from his killing despair and made ready to depart from Mirkwood on the morrow.

***

            A greater part of the bonfires had died and the Elvenking Thranduil was left to move once more among the shadows, fine silk robes trailing through ash and dead leaves, to send up clouds of soot like vengeful spirits whirling above him. His niece and son still stood in the proximity, clasping hands, a portrait of a betrothal gone well. Even hardened as he was, Thranduil could not help but be pleased with this recent development. Melglìniel's sudden decision to arrange nuptials between her daughter and his son hadn't proved disastrous, seemingly remarkable given his youngest's willfulness. Now the younger Elves sat in the dust, heedless of their rich garb, legs curled beneath them as Nilwathiel slid her long fingers across the plain of Legolas's palm.

Thranduil immediately called to mind a certain courtier's words on Nilwathiel —he had said that she was an herbalist; a mystic. 

A witch.

What witchery did she now inflict upon Legolas?

"The heart line runs deep," the little mystic was saying softly, "And crosses the head line. You are a devoted lover, and place love in highest esteem, holding it up even above duty."

"Yes," Legolas said softly and delightedly, thrilled as anyone to have his soul revealed. "That is me." 

The king nearly smiled to himself, before hearing the fatal words that sighed out from between Nilwathiel's lips. 

"I am duty," she told Legolas simply, sounding neither glad nor unhappy about this state of things, "and Haldir is love. We could grow to love each other, in a way, but the heart pines for truth just as the mind does. This new affair is a cage, _mellon amin_. I will comply if I must, but you must come to your own decision."

Unaware that her uncle had heard, she pressed a chaste kiss to her cousin's cheek, ripples of bright gold hair shielding them from the king's mercurial temper and the ferocity of his glare. 

"What of you?" Legolas asked her. "I see the rigidity in your shoulders and a stiffness that crawls through your spine. I see the way your lips pale and tremble, and how your eyes and hands become the hard eyes and little claws of a bird of prey about Melglìniel."

Thranduil watched by shadow and Legolas by dying firelight as the maiden, wide-eyed, stared fiercely into her cousin's eyes, her voice bitter and nearly vehement with emotion as she clasped the hand of the prince.

"I was not aware of this any more than you were, or Haldir was!" she pleaded with him passionately. "I have a lover of my own, in Imladris!"

Seeming to come back into her reason, she trained her eyes on a starry patch of sky somewhere beyond Legolas's right eartip. 

"I know I could grow to love you…we could even live comfortably together. But you must decide, ultimately, what becomes of this arrangement."

Her faded rose skirts whirled once, stirring the dust into a frenzied dervish, and she drifted back to the amber halls of the Elvenking. 

Legolas simply watched her go, his mind full of a pale Elf from Imladris and his heart crying for the golden marchwarden of Lothlorien.

***

            It was the stern visage of a dark-haired female Elf clad in the leggings and cloak of a male that presented itself before Haldir. The only decorations she wore that were worth noting were a silver ring about her brow, and bunches of white feathers decorating the ends of her braids. 

"Thranduil Elvenking requests your presence," the strange Elf said abruptly, revealing by a mellow tenor that would have been beautiful had it been so much the kinder, to be not a female at all, but an Elven prince with all the beauty of a female.

The marchwarden laid aside the arrows that he'd been crafting, irritatedly shaking a veil of nearly white gold hair behind his shoulders, and exiting his chamber with the raven-haired messenger.

***

            In appearance, the Elvenking and his youngest son were nearly indefinable as one from the other, save for the steely visage of Thranduil, and it nearly broke Haldir's heart to see him there. The king was the embodiment of a stern ruler, straight-backed and seated on an elaborate throne, which in turn sat upon a raised dais. He wore still the black and silver robes of earlier, but the woodland garland had been doffed in favor of a more severe band of onyx that resembled nothing so much as a chaplet of briars. In his right hand he clutched a scepter set with a pearl that glowed like the moon, and Melglìniel stood at his side.

"You've sent for me, my lord?" Haldir queried impassively. "I hardly think that Samhain would be the time to discuss the politics of Mirkwood and the Golden Wood."

The darkness that tainted Thranduil and poisoned his forest now descended over his golden features and an unholy light burned incandescently behind his blue eyes; behind the eyes that Legolas mirrored.

"And this is hardly the time, Haldir of Lorien, to be so condescending to the king of the realm that you currently linger in, especially as you have fallen so far from favor and from grace in this land."

Suspicion swiftly welled up like tears of unfathomable sorrow in Haldir's soul, but he quelled the feeling as soon as it had come.

"I've fallen out of favor with the Elvenking in one night? Were it not for your majesty's infamous temperament, I would scarcely believe it were true."

Incensed, Thranduil made as if to speak, but it was his sister that slithered forward, the movements of her sharp words revealing a tongue that was surprisingly perfect in formation, bearing no serpent's fork.

"My daughter has her uses other than bride and healer. If it hadn't been for her reading my nephew's destiny in his palm, Thranduil never would have found out what he did about you and your lover…at least, not with out my help." 

She paused, allowing for the discord to rankle in Haldir's heart. 

"Perhaps, if she had offered you her services as well, you would have been aware of the fact that you will die before the next year is out."


	7. 7

Though shrouded in near-eternal night, Mirkwood was not altogether an unpleasant kingdom to most denizens. This particular perspective, however, was somewhat altered if you happened to be locked away and out of favor, in one of Thranduil's infamous subterranean cells. Haldir had languished there past Samhain, nearly well into Yule, alone in the dark with no sight of sky or tree or Legolas. He no longer lived. He did not even survive. He existed; empty and cold below the light, held fast to life only by the memory of a golden prince that he loved. Often enough it was a memory providing only cold comfort, for ultimately it came to one realization: his love would be wed to another before the first month of the new year was out.

                                                                                                                  ***

            Out of the corner of one midnight blue eye, Legolas studied the beautiful female standing in the center of his father's hall. She _was_ extraordinary: green-blue almond shaped eyes framed by black lashes and delicately arched golden brows. A wealth of rippling curls the color of sunlight spilled down over her narrow shoulders and back to brush the train of the gown, only the numerous sapphire combs she wore sweeping it back and out of the way. The wedding gown itself was spun of yards upon yards of Mirkwood's finest spider silk, shimmering softly under the dancing firelight.

Watching his bride brought Legolas no pleasure. Glimmering sadly in her hair, the sapphires she wore only served to remind him of his love's eyes under the sky of Lorien.

This creature before him was too small, too soft; too delicate. Even after his brother Aiwendil had informed him that Haldir returned to Lothlorien, he had dwelt on nothing but the thought of his golden warrior. It would be impossible for him to wed Nilwathiel now, but to cross the mercurial personalities of both his father and aunt could have any number of malignant effects on himself and anyone else involved: namely, his cousin and his paramour.

Contemplative, Legolas raked an elegant hand through his hair, beginning a plot of his own.

            "I would speak to my bride alone," he informed Melglìniel and the attendants that swarmed about her like the infamous spiders of his homeland.

Taking her by the hand, he led her aside into the shadows of a great tree, none so beautiful, he thought, as the mallorn of Lothlorien. 

            "I cannot do this," he told her hurriedly. "It is a treason, not only to myself, but to Haldir and to you." 

She inclined her graceful head once in a gesture of assent, the jewels she wore throwing ghostly blue light onto the contours of his face. 

            "I knew you would say this," she affirmed. "It comes as no surprise."

            "You spoke of a lover in Imladris!" Legolas said desperately. "What was their name?"

Startling, his cousin fixed her brilliant green gaze on him.

            "He is Elrond Peredhil, the Lord of Imladris."

Lord Elrond Peredhil. Legolas had seen him once before, as a young Elf, not yet the 1800 years of age required to reach full maturity, when Thranduil had allowed the young prince a and his three brothers to accompany him there. The Lord of Imladris had been tall, even for an Elf, with elegant white hands that barely showed beneath his robes of state. His eyes were grey and his face bore a pensive expression. Hair of deepest black flowed down nearly to his waist, ornamented with elaborate braids and crowned with a silver star. He was a soldier as well as a lord and healer, and it was an easy guess as to why Nilwathiel loved him. 

            "Doubtless you are displeased with this marriage as I am and so will Elrond be. Melglìniel seeks only nobility for herself, and all my father desires is to see me wed. If you were to marry Elrond, then I could return to Lothlorien for Haldir."

A desperation tainted of tears and walls fast spread over Nilwathiel, and she turned her attention to the rings glittering over her slender hands.

            "Therein lies the problem, Legolas. If I did marry Elrond, it would prove no conquest for Melglìniel. Milord Elrond banished her from the borders of Imladris, which drove her to your land and us into this marriage. She would never consent unless there was a powerful position in store for her. Don't you see?" 

Anguished, Legolas shook his head.

            "We are trapped here. To sway the mind of Melglìniel was our only hope, for I believe Thranduil at least would have listened to reason-something your dear mother has never excelled at. We are lost!"

Defeat weighed on him like a millstone, dragging down all hope of future reunions with his lover, burdening him wit ha marriage he had not wanted to a girl-woman he barely felt he knew. 

            "We aren't stopped. Not yet," Nilwathiel reassured him, pressing his hand between hers in a strong grip. "We can flee the kingdom. Melglìniel cares not for me; she will stay on here and delight in influencing your father. You are the youngest son, not at all a crown prince, and it would be of little consequence if you left."

            She found herself forced backwards and affixed with the fierce eyes of Legolas, boring into her as she stared back, unable to move. 

                        "I will not run." Legolas declared angrily. "I am a warrior and I am a prince, and I flee from nothing. It is better to accept graceful defeat than to spend life fleeing from dead ends!"

Passionately, he turned away from the younger Elf, realizing with a start that he had paraphrased the words that Haldir had spoken to him sometime ago when their love was in its youth. Even as this came upon him, so did something else:

            "Nilwathiel," he mused, "my father said that you had _agreed_ to marry me, yet you say you were no more aware of it than Haldir or I. Tell me, how did this come to be?"

The reply that issued from her perfect lips was not a long one, but as thoroughly entangled as it could see fit to be.

            "It was Melglìniel and Thranduil who made the arrangements without either of us knowing. Melglìniel was desperate for power and Thranduil desired only to see his youngest son wed. She told your father that she had found a prospective bride for you, who was virginal, and –to her knowledge-unattached. Thranduil, unaware as any of us that you had found a mate in Haldir, naturally inquired as to whether this bride would agree to the marriage and Melglìniel accepted for me. Until we arrived here, I hadn't any idea I'd be marrying anyone at all." 

Nearly reeling with the information, Legolas sought to support himself by leaning against the trunk of a tree. Thranduil had never intended any harm to come to his relationship with Haldir –indeed, the Elvenking had taken a beautiful male courtier as his own paramour- but with Melglìniel and all her plots and promises whispering great things to him and his own desire that the two should marry fettering him, for Legolas to go against his father now would be madness.

            "Nilwathiel," he said again, "I cannot; nay, I **will** not do this. Sooner would I live as a celibate all my life than I would marry without love!"

The young one clasped his hand tightly, her verdant eyes sinking deep into his soul until they burned there like a flaming arrow.

            "Tell Thranduil!" she urged. "Do it, and we shall return to life as it was before!"

Apprehension settling in the pit of his stomach and chilling him all over, the prince turned away from his cousin to face the stars and seek there a guide that failed to present itself, for the times ahead. 


	8. 8

            His youngest son's decisions pertaining to the marriage had not done well by Thranduil, and had been received even worse by his fiendish sister.

As declared by both of them, Haldir was to be put to death for treason against Lothlorien, for bad blood and ancient rivalries refused to allow any alliance between Mirkwood and the Golden Wood. Nilwathiel was banished from the land and sent in undeserved disgrace back to her father's sea-cave home in Belfalas, and Legolas, though he fared better than the other two, was shunned not only by his father and aunt, but by his elder brothers, who had none of them forgiven him for having the audacity to fall in love with an Elf of Lorien and turn away from an auspicious marriage.  He was completely alone in his ordeal: the only two who could have sympathized with him gone from the land: one to a distant Bay and the other to his home in Lorien.

This was utter aloneness, something he had never expected to experience as a prince. Hatred felt to him like a foreign and freezing knife, circling his heart teasingly with short, cruel punctuations until it finally descended for the last time and ripped him to shreds.

                                                                                                                                   ***

            So long had he lingered in the dank lightlessness of a near-to-freezing dungeon. Almost certainly, the requisite month had gone by and there was now a Princess of Mirkwood: a beautiful Elf-lass that shone gold like a shaft of light beside the ethereal pale star of the Prince. Yes, it would be so, now: a young prince and his even younger mate.  A princess, to drive from Legolas's thoughts and heart the memory of a warrior, soon to die, who languished below the earth and whose touch felt like marble hands in velvet gloves.

                                                                                                                                 ***

Legolas had long pondered over the love that fled to Lorien, allowing him to be filled with thoughts of the proud soldier he still loved, even though he was sure that Haldir no longer bore any place for him in his heart. How could he, when he most surely believed Legolas to be married off by now to a soft and delicate-looking cousin from Imladris? This was the worst of all errors: his lover driven off on account of a marriage neither he nor his alleged bride had consented to!

Though before there had been nothing that could turn Legolas from these thoughts, he was startled to see his eldest brother Aldarion enter his chamber, hovering near the doorframe like a bright spirit recently appeared there.  Standing royally tall, Aldarion was every inch his father's son. White-golden and shining, thick straight hair reached his waist, and eyes the color of frost under the sky flashed imperiously in his proud face. Thranduil's eldest son supported his father's every word and deed, never questioning even where his own kin where concerned. At the sight of his brother there in the doorway, the warrior's instinct in Legolas caused his every muscle to tighten: a bowstring anticipating battle.

            "And what is it you want, Aldarion Thranduilion? On what pretext do you come here to further do the business of our royal father?"

Seeming to reel slightly, the elder Elf crossed to the lavish bed where his younger brother lay in willful repose, and dropped down beside him, some emotion seeming to catch in his throat.

            "I do not come on our father's business," he replied, but on my own, and yours. Thranduil would be greatly displeased if he but knew what I am going to tell you."

Desperation flashed through Legolas, and he clutched at his brother, working the flesh of Aldarion's arm with his nails as he spoke. 

            "What is it? Speak! I implore you."

Seeming to sink down within himself, Aldarion hesitated a long while before answering. 

            "Haldir of Lorien never left Mirkwood, Legolas. Thranduil keeps him in a cell below the earth, to languish alone until he sees fit to execute him."

With these few words, the world seemed to stop.

                                                                                                                                    ***

            Even in a steel rage, the Elvenking was beautiful, and this was how Legolas saw him now, blue eyes snapping anger at him from beneath scowling golden brows.

                        "Haldir is a traitor to Lorien, as you are to us!" the king raged, striding furiously up and down the polished onyx floors of his throne room (for once empty of courtiers), graceful in his ire. "A romance with a Lorien Elf! Do you _desire_ to bring the wrath of the Lady of the Golden Wood down upon our heads? You refuse a marriage to a beautiful Elflass out of an infatuation for an arrogant marchwarden, so beneath your rank, and then ask me to pardon him? No more!

"Ada, please!" Legolas snapped, clutching his elegant fingers into fists and desperately racking his brain for any feasible argument. "I am your son! The flesh of your flesh! The blood of your blood! Would you tear from me the only one who gives meaning to my life? This is not our way!"

Almost saddened, Thranduil regarded his youngest. If only it had not been a Lorien Elf! Galadriel would be furious, and to stay her fury he was forced to torment his youngest son, the last gift his long dead Elvenqueen had bestowed on him. With his eyes, the king signaled his beautiful lover Orophin to leave his place outside the door, desiring aloneness apart from the company of his son.

Trained for the better part of his life as a warrior of great expertise, Legolas was quick to notice the movement of his father's eyes towards Orophin, and turned it to his own advantage.

            "Ada, Orophin is a Lorien Elf!" he cried out desperately. "I know! Haldir told me of a brother who left the Golden Wood for a new identity in another land. Look at him! He has their look about him, and he is no royalty but a mere guardsman, as well as Haldir! Ada, would you have him killed? Would you, in all your loving tyranny, have the audacity to punish me for the same treason you have committed?"

Startled out of any anger that had lingered with him, Thranduil let his hands fall to his sides.

            "Legolas, my son, this is not my affair. If Celeborn and his Lady will intercede, I will spare your soldier."


	9. 9

            In the tumult that had arisen over Haldir and his confinement, Melglìniel had been completely forgotten by most everyone involved, which gave her a definite advantage not only over her own affairs but those of her brother, nephew and daughter. Far from defeat even after her cleverly arranged marriage of Nilwathiel failed, a plot to turn events in her favor was working its way through her darkened heart. Though Thranduil may have pardoned Haldir, no one had reckoned with the more sinister powers of Melglìniel. She was fully aware that if the marchwarden were dead, Legolas would have no reason to turn from the marriage. Indeed, knowing the prince, he would be so deeply sunken into grief that he would be more likely to blindly follow the instructions of another. If the proper arrangements were made, she would once again hold a rightful position in her brother's kingdom.

                                                                                                                                    ***

            It felt so strange to be leaving the darkling land of Mirkwood. Very strange, to Legolas, who had spent most of his life there. She was a dark lady, as shadowed and beautiful as his aunt, but in a different fashion of danger. Mirkwood was poisonous and exquisite, as beautiful in her own right as the Golden Wood of Lothlorien or the secret Valley of Imladris. It was odd –the last time Legolas had been to Lothlorien he had ridden there in urgency, drawn there by the frenzied desire to pay homage to his great love, and he had stayed on for months. Now he rode there in urgency out of fear for Haldir's life, and would stay only as long as it was necessary to free his love and get him back in his arms. The darkness was receding now, driven back by the soft light of the realm from whence his love had come. He had only just reached the borders of Lorien when he was approached by a tall Elf, likewise on horseback, signaling him to halt.

            "Give me your message, and quickly!" Legolas commanded, hope and fear battling one another in his heart. "My business is of an urgency that you cannot imagine. Life hangs in the balance here."

                                                                                                                                    ***

            Time slowed to an impossible drag of seconds where lives were concerned, moving to slouch forth imperceptibly but shrink back again. Brought to his senses by the plea of his son, Thranduil no longer waited for word from the Lord and Lady of Lorien, instead opting to make himself the grand gesture of pardoning the marchwarden. Though a tyrant over his kingdom, the Elvenking had at least the decency to put the happiness of his son over a political marriage; indeed, one suggested by his vile fiend of a sister. Upon Legolas's return, along with the messenger, he and Haldir would be free to love each other in the eyes of Royal Mirkwood.

                                                                                                                                    ***

            No matter the amount of tiny flames blazing in the chambers of Melglìniel, it was impossible to light the striking darkness roiling and festering within her soul. She had fallen down on the step of her nephew's love for Haldir, but was more than adequately prepared to overleap it. There was yet one last detail to attend to, though she could resolve that at the last minute. The immediate matter of importance was the messenger. If she had persuaded and paid them as well as could be hoped, they would deliver to her nephew no hopeful message of life but the tidings of Haldir's "death" –never mind that he lived yet. After the marriage of Legolas and Nilwathiel, she would have him slain in secrecy, but not until then. Assuming that her messenger was as reliable as she hoped, the next issue at hand was Thranduil. Though he had risen to become a most auspicious and feared power, even for an Elf, with this dissolving the nuptial agreements he had overstepped the invisible and deadly boundary laid between himself and his sister in their youth. Slipping from the room and absently fingering the blade concealed in her sleeve –swift death, flat and cold even against the heat of her slender arms, her real child- she praised the Valar in all their wisdom that after the kindly failure of Melenquellion, they had seen fit to deliver to her a mortal lover. Men were the best study in ruthlessness.

Entering into her brother's chambers, Melglìniel smiled thinly as she watched the ubiquitous yellow flames flash light upon the flaxen hair of the Elvenking.

Treasured Thranduil!

Beside him she appeared ashy in her darkness, night-themed in color as one of the Peredhil of Imladris.

            "You have grown merciful, my brother," She began, her voice slithering over black and polished floors like the gliding underbelly of a snake. Out of his usual habit, Thranduil paid no mind to her, instead continuing to pore over a sheaf of paper held in his left hand.

            "Mercy in itself is a weakness, but having betrayed the wishes of your family only to condone an affair with an arrogant Elf of the Golden Wood, I fear you have sunk lower than I thought possible." Her smile bloomed out like a black orchid, curling little petals of animosity over her pale face.

Angrily, her elder brother raised his head to her at last, throwing back the golden sheet of hair obscuring his face and fixing her with a glare that snapped like fire, the look of undistinguished loathing reserved for something that he in all his might deemed unfit to reside miserably and ill-begotten beneath the black earth under his boot heel.

            "Legolas is my son," he spat out vehemently, wishing this midnight-haired sister of his gone like the poison cloud she was. "Who am I to deny him happiness? What father, no matter how hard of heart, could deny the blood of his own a scrap of light when all he knows is darkness!"

A sneer curled the orchid lips of Melglìniel.

            "Righteous indignance does not become you, brother!" she taunted. "The blood of your blood! Hypocrisy! If you but cared for the state of your own, you would have preserved the union of your child and niece, the station of your sister, and left this Haldir to rot!"

She advanced on him, the click of her heels sounding in the fire-lit chamber like an Orc drum.

            "Yourself and your daughter notwithstanding," Thranduil argued, "it remains still that the Greenleaf is my son, and I would rather see him enmeshed in love and happiness than entombed in my vicious sister's politics!"

Baring her teeth dangerously, the female growled to her brother as she withdrew from her sleeve her keen blade. "Why, my dear Thranduil, did you not know? An ounce of blood is worth a pound of friendship!"

Golden hair mingled beautifully with the new crimson lake that bloomed over the onyx floor, golden hair like a pale dying sun.

                                                                                                                        ***

            "Haldir of Lorien, my prince, has been executed at the order of Melglìniel of Mirkwood," the messenger informed Legolas.

The words took a good deal of time to come to their full, grim meaning in the ears of the prince. Around him, a lovely, maddening whiteness seemed to descend like the strong hand of his lover had once.

Never more.

It whispered to him, muttering, pulling him back towards his homeland. He turned one blank blue eye to the Elf beside him.

            "Thanks for your pains, and do the honor of informing Lord Celeborn. I have business to attend to."

                                                                                                                        ***

Though it was hard to tell, due to numbing grief and the chronic darkness of Mirkwood, when Legolas reached the thick of the forest it seemed to be nightfall.

He saw no light in any direction that might mean the palace. Saw no light, but heard the ominous sounds of movement in the darkness around him.

Forest brethren: spiders.

He was surrounded on all sides by spiders, and the usurping Orcs that long ago had invaded Mirkwood.

Without a weapon, he found himself standing his ground, the memory of his love's face illuminating the dark places of his mind.

There, in the gloom not far from his own halls, the Greenleaf, Legolas Thranduilion, youngest prince of Mirkwood, went to join his father, surrendering his precious life to the creatures of the night.


	10. Epilogue

            Following the deaths of his father and brother, Aldarion of Mirkwood took the throne and commenced immediately to have Melglìniel stripped of her title and detained in the deepest oubliette beneath the palace, left there to be forgotten by all.

Unable to remain any longer in the land where his love had perished, Haldir left Mirkwood not for Lothlorien but for Belfalas, to seek the company of the mystic Nilwathiel. Neither of them, however, found any comfort in the presence of the other, reminded only of shattered happiness and poisoned love. The younger returned at last to her land in Imladris to serve as an apprentice healer, binding the fall of her hair with black ribbons for the deaths in her past and the death she foresaw.

Living in Belfalas for three short years along, gazing out to the sparkling waters of the tepid bay, Haldir at last took off his life by his own hand, driven half-mad by agonizing grief.

For the blood of their blood and the ones their hearts loved, Thranduil the Elvenking of Mirkwood, his son Legolas and the Marchwarden Haldir of Lorin lay down their lives, paying not with an ounce but a sea of blood.

Farewell, my loves, and may the Valar light your path.

10:31 AM, 27 April 2003.

"An ounce of blood is worth a pound of friendship."


End file.
